


A Study in Emotion

by orphan_account



Series: A Study In Emotion [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Elizabeth Keen & Raymond Reddington - Freeform, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Lizzington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz punches Red. Red is a jerk. Set early in the series, and is based off of a prompt from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This takes place fairly early in the series, before Liz starts to find her footing with Red. It is not connected to any episode though. I got this prompt from tumblr, and I hope you enjoy it!

The first thought Liz has in the dead silence right after her fist connects sharply with Red's cheek bone is that Red looks just as surprised as she feels. It's probably that first time she has seen real surprise on his face instead of the slightly mocking act of surprise he puts on for an audience.

 

Finally getting a real reaction from Red fills her with a kind of thrilled, slightly hysterical satisfaction. It even manages to sooth the slightly frustrated feeling that seeing him barely stagger in response evokes in her.

 

That had been a solid punch, even if it had taken them both by surprise.

 

It's only when Liz's knuckles start to throb in time with her heart beat, and the expression on Red's face blanks over like he's pulled a curtain over his emotions as he raises his fingers to examine the spot where knuckle shaped dark red marks are rapidly forming, that reality catches up with her.

 

She isn't certain, but it is entirely possible that Red's killed people for less. Much less. Such as simply messing up his suit less. She's heard tales. Unsubstantiated ones that people just had to tell her. Like telling her about the last person who had crossed him hadn't yet recovered the ability to speak. (If even half of them are true... She is so not trained for this.)He probably saves the real creative methods for people who cause him actual physical harm, like some perverted form of cake or death. Lions or death. _Oh, yes, if you manage to get to the other side of the enclosure, I'll let you go. Better run fast, I think they're hungry. Or I can kill you now. Which ever you prefer._

 

Even the Red in her head sounds mocking. She opens her mouth, can't think of anything but _oh, fuck_ and she can't say that. Normally, she wouldn't cater toward Red's distaste over swearing (some situations just call for it), but she is trying to lessen his ire at her right now, not increase it. She shuts her mouth.

 

The momentary flush of relief of Red breaking eye contact with her and no longer being the focus of that piercing stare brings her is short lived, killed by the words that come out of his mouth.

 

“Dembe, check on how that security installation is going. Wouldn't want us to have any uninvited guests dropping by, now would we?” Red drawls, voice lazy and dangerous. The tone sends a shiver up her spine before she manages to clamp down on it. _Dealing with Red rule number 3 - showing fear is like putting a wounded gazelle in front of a hungry lion. And I'm the gazelle._

 

She hears the door click quietly shut behind Dembe, but she doesn't have time to consider whether she's safer now or before. All her focus is on him as his gaze snaps back to her and pins her to it, and Liz can't help the way her breathing quickens, or the way her feet startle back a half step away from him.

 

Liz knows it's a mistake even before the deceptively bland look turns predatory, and he follows her, stepping forward. Taking more ground than Liz had given up. She fights back the urge to look down, make herself small, to figuratively show her vulnerable underbelly in some sort of messed up plea for-for, well something other than whatever Red has in store for her. He's already got control of the situation, no need to offer herself up on a silver platter like a lamb to slaughter on top of that.

 

He won't hurt her, not physically. Not really. She's ninety-five percent certain he won't, even if her body is reacting to the physical dominance and threat his posture is displaying as he encroaches on her space. Mental distress and manipulation are more his style. He could make her life very unpleasant should he so wish.

 

Red hadn't been able to react to her when she'd stabbed a pen into his carotid artery. He had needed her cooperation. _And I had him literally by the neck. He won't let this one just slide though._

 

He takes another step forward and to the side, and Liz reacts by shifting in the other direction, trying to cover her retreat by disguising it as if she was simply moving over to pick up her glass of water. He's herding her away from the door, putting himself in-between. It's not hard to figure that out. The door offers no escape to her anyway. Even if she did make it through the door, fleeing like a scared child and ruining any respect Red might have for her, Liz is rather certain that Red would just have Dembe bring her right back here. She'd just as soon skip that treatment.

 

The table on the other hand... If she can make her way around the table, so that the table is between Red and herself, she can probably talk him down. At least to the point where she'll just have to suffer through his passive way of displaying displeasure- the silent treatment.

 

Her plan of seeking safety on the other side of the table is sadly doomed though. His hand circles her wrist (She ignores the unhelpful observation her mind makes about his hands. The fact that he has nice hands does not help her.), trapping it in his grip before she can even lift her glass off the table.

 

It isn't a harsh grip, but it feels firm and solid when she tries to subtly test his hold on her. Not subtly enough, a his hand tightens around her wrist warningly at the slight movement, causing her to still. Red doesn't touch her, not like this. Slight touches, fleeting touches that are gone before she's even half aware of him touching her. And he certainly doesn't touch the scar on her wrist.

 

Very rarely does she allow anyone to see that scar, much less to touch it. It's personal, a part of her life she doesn't really understand. A part that disconcerts her. She'll touch it, when she feels uneasy about something, use it as a counterbalance. To calm herself.

 

Evidently, Liz doesn't even have to be the one touching it for the trick to work. Red's lightly stroking the scared skin underneath his fingers, the unaccustomed touch all the more shockingly intimate in its rarity, and the feeling of safety that the touch creates is directly at war with thrills of alarm that his body language and predatory gleam in his eyes are sending through her. The jumble of emotions tips her panic into irritation.

 

Red's voice, when it comes, is a low purr near her ear, with just this side of a growl, and she wavers between finding it annoying or just simply confusing.

 

“A punch to the face? My, what a reaction. Found a rather tender spot there, did I?” He inhales, smelling her, and hums a soft _Hmmm?_ and slides in closer so his mouth is right next to her ear, still not touching. The lack of contact anyway else makes the hold he has on wrist, the soft stroke of his fingers against the scar, seem that much more intense. “Careful now, Lizzie, losing your temper can get you into more trouble than I think you can handle right at the present.”

 

The mocking tone Liz thinks she hears hinted in his tone grinds against her, stroking her temper back into a froth.

 

It makes Liz want to bare her teeth and growl at him to _back the fuck off_ (This seems like the perfect situation for more colorful language). Red's being, well, Red, being pushy, using his body language keep the upper hand, and generally confusing the hell out of her.

 

Her irritation with him jumps up another notch as she recalls just why she punched him. It wasn't all his fault, sure, the punch wasn't completely deserved, perhaps only... sixty percent deserved. But being called up in the middle of the night, having to make excuses for leaving in the middle of the night for her job, and he starts off by criticizing her inability to blend in?

 

“Not that it wasn't a rather good punch,” Red continues, and Liz glares at him. That definitely had a mocking quality to it. “A little textbook, to be sure, and you left yourself open afterward, but still a fairly good punch. I think it's even going to bruise.”

 

“Good,” she growls out, “and when people ask, you can tell them its because you were being an-”

 

Her eyes widen, and she startles Red interrupts her placing a finger over her lip, and says “Let's be civil, now, I was just giving you a complement. My, you are in a testy mood tonight.”

 

“I feel like I've gotten maybe ten hours of sleep in the past four days, I get called over on the first real opportunity I get to sleep in two days (even if, at home, she'd been no closer to sleep, just high strung, wired. Exhausted, yet unable to sleep. Alone, despite... Well. Alone.), you're criticizing the way that I throw a punch, and _then you're surprised I'm 'in a testy mood'_?” Her voice rises in irritation.

 

“I'm simply trying to give you some helpful hints, Lizzie. Your safety is always my concern. Keeping you from letting your temper lead you into... dangerous territory.”

 

“Dangerous terr-,” Liz sees... something in Red's eyes before it's masked over, and it causes her to pause. Something... she seen that gleam before. “Red?” His name scrapes out between her clenched teeth.

 

“Yes, my dear?” It's startling how fast Red can shift persona, and a reminder of just how little of himself he shows her. His drawling tone is still smug, but the dangerous edge seems to have dropped from it, replaced with a cloying innocence.

 

“Are you playing me?” She tries to match his tone, but has to settle for how she really feels. Exhausted and two steps away from punching him again. Maybe she'd get to see that surprised look again. That, at least, she was sure had been real, even if nothing else this evening had been.

 

“It's possible. You're much more responsive then you usually are. Either you're beyond exhausted, or you're still feeling the effects of drug you were exposed to earlier. Not all of your responses were quite... all you, shall we say,-” Red pauses, and Liz decides she's quite heard enough. He's too close to punch, and he's got one of wrists already. Punching at him while this close would probably just end up with both wrists being caught up. Instead, she twists abruptly around to try to bring her shoulder into his torso with an angry sounding snarl.

 

Somehow, between one second and the next, he has her flipped completely around, and Liz trapped between the table and Red. He has both of her wrists now, one in each hand, pressed against the table. Liz struggles against him, “Let me go, Red!”

 

“Hmmm? Are you going to calm down? As much as I prefer your current mood over your earlier impersonation of a scared rabbit, I think your next attempt at bodily harm will be aimed at some parts of me that I'd really rather not have kneed.” As he says this, he pressing her hands together against the table, one on top of the other, palm up so the scar is in plain view.

 

She can tell he's looking at it, can feel him leaning over shoulder, looking down with his head tucked next to hers, even if she's not willing to turn her head to look at him.

 

Not that she needs to. She can feel him. Can feel Red pressed against her, leg in between hers, hard chest pressed to her back, and his hands on hers. It makes her feel vulnerable, exposed, with him looking at her scar head on right now, but her anger from earlier is fading away. She's either to tired to hang onto it, the strangely hypnotic way his fingers are tracing her scar is lulling her away from it. Now all she feels is tired, a bone deep sort of exhausted.

 

It odd, wanting to fall asleep against Red, but between the way his fingers are stroking her wrist, caressing it reverence that says passes off as her exhaustion putting thoughts in her head, and the way his scent is surrounding her in the cologne she is just starting to recognize as _his_ , she feels like she could sleep right here, leaning against him.

 

She's mostly asleep, Red murmuring something to her in her ear(something dangerous territory again, but that doesn't really make sense, even to her sleep fogged brain.), as he's leading her out of that room, toward another, and in a bed that's not hers. It smells like fresh laundry -detergent and lemons- and it isn't until Red starts to pull his hands away that she wakes up enough to make a half asleep protest.

 

She settles back down to sleep as his hand returns the scar on her wrist, stroking lightly, softly. There's reasons, Liz can feel them just beyond the veil of sleep, that she would not, under most circumstances let Red touch her scar like this (Ask him to?), but it's helping her go all the way into sleep, and ignore his oddly affectionate murmurings about how she'll be the death of him. She can put up with his odd preoccupation with her scar.

 

And tomorrow's soon enough to be angry at him.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz wakes up.

It's the sound of her phone alerting her to a text that finally startles Liz into disoriented awareness, and she reluctantly wiggles her hand out from under the blankets (Not her covers, too sleepy to care. They're soft, and thick. Warm.) to fish her now silent phone off the nightstand (Again, not hers, but its tasteful. Solid. Not an ikea model.) and bring it back to the bed.

 

Its cold in the room outside of the blankets, so she wiggles around to shuffle the covers back up around her, forming a little tent of warmth round her and her phone. Liz has to stare blearily at the blank screen of the phone for a minute before her brain can catch up, and she touches it to wake it up.

 

Five new texts. First one is Tom. From early this morning, and the next three are also from him as well. Asking where she is, if she want to go have breakfast out together this morning, because he hasn't seen much of her this past week. Last one from Tom, at 10:15, is simply a message saying he has things to do today, and to please send him a text so he can have some idea of when to expect his wife home.

 

Liz pushes down the guilty emotions the last text from Tom inspires in her, and flips to see the last text. Not from a number she knows.

 

**11:26 There is food available whenever you wish to get up. Some things you may need are also in your bathroom if you should so wish. Red**

 

Food? Her bathroom? What does Red-

 

_Fuck._ Red.

 

She's in a guest bedroom at one of Red's safe-houses. A flash of memory- _Red leaning over her, pressing her down onto the bed, shushing her sleepy protests with a gentle firmness as his thumb lightly rubs small circles against the scar on his wrist._

 

Red freaking _put her to bed._

 

Liz bolts up in the bed, covers dropping down to her waist, and she's fully awake now.

 

Mortified. That's what she's feeling right now. Absolutely mortified.

 

Not only had he put her to bed, but she'd clung to him like a some limpet.

 

Fuck. At least she can blame the crazy mood swings (Oh, god. She'd _punched_ him. The look on his face...) on the lingering effects of that drug she'd been exposed to earlier in the day. Red hadn't been around when _that_ had happened at least, hadn't seen her until Dembe had dropped her off at his new safe-house, for which she was more then grateful for.

 

But clinging to him like she had last night? Or rather, very early this morning?

 

Mortifying. Alarming. Red _already_ had the upper hand in their interactions. How insufferable would he be when he knew he could simply stroke his fingers along the scar on her wrist and she would basically let Red be as controlling as he liked.

 

 

 

 

Not that she hadn't been able to fight the feelings Red's touch on the scar had evoked. She'd been able to use her anger and irritation shield against it, for the most part. At least until Red had... well, Red had-

 

_Red pressed up against her back with his leg pushing firming between hers, making her widen her stance and setting her off-balance. Red's arms wrapped around her torso, wrists held immobile in his hands against the table. His arms tucking her body even more firmly against him when his actions and her own exhaustion cause her to go limp and pliant._

 

Red hadn't put more than a hand on her before last night, and the shock of suddenly feeling every inch of him pressed against her while watching his fingers on her scar had been more than enough overwhelm what defenses she'd been able to put up against him.

 

Red hadn't even _needed_ the mental cheat that the scar provided him. The extra weight and muscle he had on her meant that once Red had had her trapped against the table, all he would have had to do was wait out her struggles until her body gave into exhaustion.

 

However, as mortifying as it had been, Liz couldn't hide in the bedroom forever. Spend to long in trying to avoid Red, and he'd probably take it as a challenge.

 

It was time to see just what he had left for her in the bathroom.

 

 

\-------Scenebreak-------------------------------Scenebreak--------------------------SceneBreak-----------------

 

 

“Red, I'm not sure which is more creepy. You, knowing my dress size and the exact type and scent of conditioner that I use, or the fact that I woke up less dressed than I remember going to bed with.” It'd been more than just her conditioner, he'd also provided the other essentials, but her conditioner was rather hard to find. She'd only found one store in the area that carried it.

 

Red looks up and smiles at her from his seat as Liz walks in the room, his expression smugly pleased. “Lizzie! Come, sit, eat. You must be _famished_. You've not eaten since lunch yesterday, since that dreadful business with the airborne drug. Try the gray stuff, its delicious.” He motions toward the seat opposite him, “And, my dear, I simply took off your shoes and jacket. Nothing untoward happened. Don't tell me you would have preferred to sleep with them on? You would have been horribly uncomfortable. I was simply assisting with what you were to exhausted to do yourself.”

 

“I wouldn't have needed that assistance if you hadn't had Dembe fetch me over for urgent business that just couldn't be put off to the morning,” Liz says as she peers across the table at him warily. She moves to the seat he motioned to, feeling it best to choose her battles wisely. It had the advantage of putting the table between Red and herself anyway.

 

“And, as it was my own urgent business that called you over here that aggravated those problems, I would have felt honor bound to offer you any assistance you needed **-** even if it had not been, as it was, a pleasure to do so.”

 

“Yes, I'm sure. So, just what was this urgent business that could not wait till morning? As it is, morning already.”

 

“Hmm? Oh, don't worry about that. Already taken care of last night. Or this morning, as it were.” Red, for some reason, looked even more pleased about that.

 

“So I didn't need to come over here in the dead of night?” Her voice is flat, her annoyance from yesterday rearing its irritable head at the further evidence of him jerking her around with no regard for her own thoughts and emotions.

 

“Nonsense, my dear, nonsense. You were as instrumental as always. Now, do eat something. Or is your appetite still disrupted from yesterday? I could have some dry toast brought out for you if that is the case, but I really must insist on you eating something.”

 

Liz has had rather enough of Red insisting things, but as she was rather hungry, this wasn't something she really wanted to fight Red on just for the sake of it. Picking her battles, and all that. And as Red was acting rather cagey about whatever his business had been, better to give in on something small to try to get him to let his guard down a little bit.

 

Red had obviously thought better at including her in whatever business he'd had last night, and while it was unlikely, she might be able to get him to drop a hint about whatever it was.

 

She still felt just a little to tired still to be able to hold onto her annoyance at him. Better bring it back to a safer topic. Much better for her to pick the topic, rather than soldier on and risk Red turning it to a topic she didn't want to talk about. Best to avoid situation that may tempt him into using his new found knowledge of her scar.

 

“No, my appetite has returned. I think I'll just stick with some egg and muffin though, just to be safe.” There. Enough to provoke twinge of concern, perhaps, distract him a little without being obvious about it or making him to concerned. She already spent long enough yesterday at the hospital, and she doesn't desire a return trip. Liz takes the plate he hands her, and blinks in surprise when Red slides a poached egg onto her plate. “Red, I'm perfectly capable of serving myself.” Good god, Red is in a pushy mood. Yesterday and today.

 

“I'm sure you are. Half or a whole muffin?”

 

Aggravating man. She sighs, “Whole, please. You still haven't answered the first part of what I said. About the dress size and the conditioner.” He uses the tongs in the basket to place the English Muffin onto her plate.

 

“That isn't being creepy, my dear, that is simply doing a good job. You know how I like a job well done.”

 

“Hmm... Nope, Red. Pretty sure it's just creepy. Can you please pass the juice?” She feels unhealthily pleased at startling a chuckle from him. The pleased feeling grows when, at her glare, he just passes the juice to her instead of doing it himself as he had been moving to do.

 

It is truly a sad state of affairs when something so small feels like win. She even gets him to simply pass the fruit preserves to her.

 

There's lull in the conversation as Liz munches on her muffin. She quickly tried to think a topic that wouldn't lead to things she didn't want to talk about. Lulls in conversations were dangerous around Red, they were like little invitations for him to poke and prod some more.

 

“So, tell me Lizzie,” Red begins, and Liz steels herself for whatever topic he's chosen to prod her with now, “How did you sleep?”

 

Liz actually has to pause at the question, because she hadn't expected an inquiry into her sleeping habits. Prodding her about once again finding herself in the middle of trouble, yes, poking her about last night, definitely. But a question about how she slept?

 

She couldn't look that badly off. She'd looked at least five times worse last night, and it certainly hadn't inspired any soft treatment from him then. If anything, he'd been even more confrontational with her last night.

 

“Fine, I slept fine. Well even.”

 

Red look oddly pleased with her response, but did elaborate to her questioning glance. Instead, he studied her face carefully for one long minute, than said “Good, very good. I do hate to eat and run, but I have an appointment to make, so I must take my leave of you now before I am late. Please stay and finish your meal, I will be most displeased to find that you left it unfinished.”

 

Red stands up and makes to go to the door, but pauses to look back at her, something on his face darkly contemplative. When he does step back toward her, it's more similar to the predatory, menacing manner of last night, rather than the easy one he's been wearing since she has woken up. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low. Assured. Ominous. It has other notes to it, but those are the ones she can identify.

 

“I wasn't going to say anything this morning,” Red says, and when she moves to push back her chair so she can stand up as well (sitting next to a Red who is acting every inch the predator while towering over her makes her extremely uneasy), he blocks her chair with his foot and presses down on her shoulder to push her back into her seat. “Oh, no, don't feel you need to get up. You haven't finished you food yet. As I was saying, I hadn't planned on saying anything, I don't quite know just how _civil_ I can be about it, but I feel you deserve... at least a warning.”

 

Red keeps the hand on her shoulder as he speaks, but it is his other hand going to encircle her wrist, his fingers pressing lightly against the scar there in a manner that says he knows how it effects her (And there goes the small, tiny little hope she had that Red had somehow missed that, that he had attributed her capitulation to him as the effect of the other things he had done.) that causes her open her mouth and say, “Red?” in nervous voice.

 

“Yes... At least a warning. Do try to be more careful, yesterday is not the first time you've placed yourself in danger, nor do I think it will be the last. However, I take your safety very seriously, and I do not think you will like the steps I take if I decide to give you assistance in this manner. Situations like yesterday though, where you are offered the choice between a retreat to safety and danger without proper backup, next time, don't choose to forge on ahead,” his voice drops even lower, to a soft growl right next to her ear for the next sentence, “As I said, you won't like it if I have to step in to... give assistance.”

 

With a final squeeze of her wrist, Red releases her and steps away, an amiable mask dropping over his face as he says his good bye, “Now, I really must be going. Do try the gray stuff, if you feel up to it, it is quite tasty.”

 

With that, Red turns and leaves the room. Less than a minute later, Liz hears what must be the front door opening and closing as he leaves.

 

Its a long while before Liz can compose herself to do the same.

 

 

0_)_)__)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_) _)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)

 

Authors note: Alright that is the true end, although I might to another story based in the same universe later.

 

Bonus points if you figured out just what Red's “business” was.


End file.
